And on

There is complete darkness all around.
No street lamps, and no light from houses nearby.
There are no houses nearby.
No far away towns to cast an ambient light for miles around, and no light from the moon above.
There are no oncoming vehicles, and there are no vehicles playing catch up.
It's a road from the back of the beyond. It is not a state highway, it is certainly not a part of the Golden Quadrilateral.
The surface is tarred, and the surface is smooth.
There is no marking on the road - no white line, undulating or dashed.
No markers by the side, and no boards that give directions.
The ones in green, with white lettering - they're not there.
The speed is a constant sixty - it could be more, but then the road could have a sudden bump - and with no light around, that's being pretty risky.
At the edge of the road, speeding along, letting the bike slip into and out of curves. Now she bends this way, and now that-a-way. Slowing into the corners and accelerating out of them.
Now heading for the straights with the throttle open, and now slowing down of her own accord upon encountering a slope.
Now up and now down.
Dark and seemingly abandoned villages pass by - signs that indicate a school, signs that warn of speed-breakers.
The nearest town should have come up a long time back, and the chase is on. Sleepiness combats egotism, and the bike rides on.
Recollections flit in front of tired eyes - maps that seemed to have promised a town half an hour ago. In the saddle for the last sixteen hours, and a seeming eternity to go.
And in the flickering light of the headlamp, underneath the scratched visor and behind the old helmet.
Over the defiantly drooping shoulders, and under the furrowed brow.
As she turns yet another corner to reveal another interminable stretch of macadamized eternity.
You smile.
And ride on.